I have too many hobbies

Personal

I don't have specific tags for my personal knitting or sewing projects but I tag it all as "personal" for my own organization. I'm working on using a personal knitting/sewing tag

Knitting Tag

personal knitting tag

Art Tag

The art I've made with watercolor and the app Procreate on the ipad

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Ghost [knitting] Project:

I've been planning a Ghost themed shawl and this is the tag for it. Currently I'm still working through the chart and trying to figure that

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My Fics / Fic Writing / Ghost Fic

MASTERLIST [Dracopia AU]

MASTERLIST [MISC]

These three are for my fic posts or musings while I write/work on wips.

My Fics - a long to the things I've written

Fic Writing - thoughts and musings

Ghost Fic - any fics I've reblogged as well as my fics I've posted. It's a catch-all.

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If you've made it this far, thanks! Here's a couple cool photos I made while getting my photography degree.

💙🦇🧵❤️

Terzo leaves the apartment and makes his way to the music studio. There's a lovesick vampire that needs something. Or someone. The next album isn't due for a bit but without anywhere else to be, and with a new home that is devoid of the life gifted by Sarah, Copia holes up in the studio. Sometimes he naps on the couch and hopes sleep will have him waking up closer to the end of his misery.

Creaking, old hinges of the door alert Copia of a visitor. Any lingering feeling of hope disipates when Terzo comes into view.

A tired grumble leaves Copia. "What do you want?" He can smell Sarah's shampoo on him and it's bittersweet.

"Copia, something important came up and I need you to cover my confessional duty tonight."

He wants to turn it down but what else does he have to do? Copia sighs, "Fine. I'll cover for you."

Terzo grins far too wide for a simple favor. "Excellent."

"Do you always ask me because I don't need to sleep?"

"Yes."

And then Terzo spins and leaves the studio, a squeaky hinge following after. When the confessional hour rises upon him, Copia trudges down to the chapel. It's the middle of the week and he bargains there won't be as many siblings as opposed to the weekends. He brings his notebook and pen and jots down the odd lyric inspiration that comes.

Over the evening, he manages to have a few visitors. Most of them assume it's Terzo until Copia speaks, only to hear and sense their overall disappointment. They follow up anyway with pleasant conversation and he helps with any worries or celebrates achievements. It's getting near midnight and he starts to adjust side to side in his seat. Confession is almost over and then he has to—what?—go home and sit in more silence?

Copia's head shoots up then and a familiar waft of shampoo makes its way over. Terzo? Confession is almost over, idiot.

The door on the other side opens, latches closed, and the late night visitor takes a deep breath.

Before rambling without any sign she wants to be interrupted.

"I'm sorry, Terzo, for coming so late. I kept going back and forth and back and forth and finally made myself walk over. I was in the garden hoping fresh air would help clear my mind but then I walked past our bench and I—" Sarah takes another breath.

"Hm?" Copia tries to sound like Terzo. He's not sure if he has the voice down right.

She lets out a dry chuckle, "I thought again about going to see Copia."

Again?

Hope starts to bloom anew in his chest. Oh, he could survive the separation just with this knowledge alone.

"What did you conclude?" he murmurs like Terzo.

"I sat down on the bench and memories flooded back. I can't—I don't want to just throw away everything. But I—"

"Do you… love him, still?" Copia winces. He clings to the silence on the other side.

"I haven't changed my answer since this morning, Terzo."

Shit. He needs to text Terzo ASAP.

Sarah adjusts in her spot and the old wood creaks. "I'm worried that even if I go back, things will be different. Bad different. I constantly wonder if leaving was the wrong option and that it makes me look selfish and we can't go back to how things once were."

"I—uh," his clothes rustle and he makes a fuss to get up. "Hold on for one moment."

That voice. Those little mumbles, Sarah realizes.

The door in front of her opens. In front of her is Copia, back-lit by the light of the chapel. They're both frozen where they are, barely a foot of space between them before Copia is falling to his knees with a weary thud.

"Copia," she whispers from shock.

He shakes his head and reaches out for her. Sarah rests her shaky hands in his gloved palms and he squeezes them tight. Copia bends down and presses his forehead to her hands.